


Oh, the stars stopped glowing on the night that you left...

by OfRooksandOrchids



Category: Le Silence de La Mer (2004)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfRooksandOrchids/pseuds/OfRooksandOrchids
Summary: What was going through Jeanne's mind as she stood there in the driveway after Werner left for the Russian Front? This story follows her as she faces her first night and day without her captain. Will she give in to heart-shattering despair, or be given an unexpected source of strength to get her through the darkest of her days?
Relationships: Jeanne Larosière/Werner von Ebrennac
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story comes from lyrics in a beautiful song by Blackmore's Night. The first time I heard it, I immediately thought of Jeanne and Werner.

Jeanne stood silent and still as a marble statue, listening as the sound of the Mercedes' engine faded away into the distance. Time ceased to have any meaning for her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The worst had happened and it felt like her entire world was collapsing around her. 

Werner had left the house for the very last time. He wouldn't be coming back. She would never see the man that she had fallen in love with, the man who had stolen a part of her soul, ever again. At least not in this life.

The cold night air had no effect on her. She ought to be freezing, standing in the driveway without a coat. The wind was coming in off the sea and it had a bite to it that would normally have set her to shivering. But not now. Now she just felt....nothing.

No. No, that wasn't quite right. Not nothing. She felt numb, which was something and nothing at the same time, wasn't it? She was distantly aware of the fact that she was still crying. Had been since Werner had told her and her grandfather of his request to be transferred to the Russian Front. Since he had told them that he was leaving that very night. His "adieu" had shattered her heart and her tears hadn't stopped falling since. The agony in Werner's own soft blue eyes when she had followed him out to the car and choked out her farewell would be something she'd never forget. The expression on his face and his own unshed tears making his gaze too bright would haunt her the rest of her life. 

She had lost him. She had lost him to the war, to his disillusionment, to his unspoken and yet keenly felt guilt of surviving the car bomb that had gravely injured his orderly and taken the lives of his two friends. He was bound for an icy wasteland that, by all reports, was claiming German casualties left, right, and center. Werner had said the temperature there was forty below zero. How could a man like him, a Prussian nobleman used to comfortable living, possibly survive that? Survive hardened Soviet troops used to conditions that no invading army in history had ever been equal to?

The realization hit her. Did he really want to survive? Had Werner come to believe that his life was no longer worth living? He had said that "there is no hope anymore." Oh, God. What had she done, letting him walk out that door? She should have stopped him, grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him back to her, offering him a lifeline. Should have talked to him that night when she and her grandfather had overheard him and his friends having their bitter argument. He had looked so lost and sounded so defeated when he had come into the living room to have that grave conversation about his only options being loyalty and commitment to his duty. That had been her opportunity to reach out to him and she had failed to take it. After that, events had spiralled wildly out of control. 

And now it was too late. 

Jeanne stood staring into the far distance, not registering anything around her. She felt a bone-deep disconnect from reality. Had her world so well and truly turned so utterly upside down in the last twenty-four hours? Would it ever right itself? Could it? It didn't seem possible. 

The sound of a voice calling her name gradually brought her to awareness again. She turned her head and met her grandfather's gaze. She couldn't speak to form a reply. The effort required was just too, too much. She closed her eyes against a sudden wave of exhaustion and dizziness. She idly wondered if she was going to faint for the first time in her life. She didn't think she'd mind if she did. A few minutes, a few hours, even, of blessed unconsciousness sounded so good to her. To swoon dead away and not have any concept of anything going on around her would be the greatest gift that God could bestow, assuming He actually existed. 

Alas, she didn't faint. The moment passed and Jeanne found her grandfather standing by her side. His face was a mixture of worry and something else she couldn't put a name to. Was it annoyance, perhaps? How dare he be annoyed with her? Didn't he realize that her world was in tatters and the pain was such that she didn't know how she could function anymore? 

"Come inside, ma petite," André Larosière said. "He's gone." 

He's gone. Those two tiny words echoed in Jeanne's mind as loudly and as hollowly as a tomb's door being slammed shut after a funeral mass. She felt as if someone had plunged a dagger into her heart. She actually gasped with the force of her emotions after hearing her grandfather's words. He couldn't know how deeply such an innocent phrase had wounded her. She would never be able to speak to him of her devastation. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't particularly want to, she knew. She had seen the way he had looked at her that night when Werner spoke so beautifully about his feelings for her using the metaphor of the silence of the sea. Her grandfather had fixed her with such a penetrating stare of disapproval. She hadn't forgotten how cold his eyes turned, how he'd spoken to her in a tone she'd never heard before as he said goodnight, brusquely admonishing her not to let the log in the fireplace burn up completely. 

Jeanne would never share her grief over losing Werner with her grandfather. It would be her cross to bear. She wouldn't speak of it to anyone for as long as she lived. Sighing like a mournful breeze through a desolate forest, Jeanne forced her feet to move and carry her back into the house. She didn't look at her grandfather as she turned and walked away.

For the first time in her life, she wished she lived alone.

Once inside, she made her way upstairs, stopping only briefly to look in on Pierre. The little boy was sound asleep right where she'd left him in her bed. In the morning, she would get in touch with his relatives. He couldn't stay with her and her grandfather indefinitely. Jeanne couldn't cope with being a mother-figure to him despite what she'd promised Marie. She couldn't take care of anyone in her current state, least of all a child who had watched his parents be rounded up by the SS for their roles in the car bombing. Pierre deserved to be with family; people who would be strong enough to help him through his trauma.

Jeanne's strength had abandoned her. 

Very quietly so as not to wake the child, Jeanne gathered up her nightclothes and a few of her things and silently shut the door. She would sleep in what had been her parents' bedroom.

The room Werner had slept in during his time with them. 

The idea of sleeping in the same bed that he had slept in comforted her somewhat. It was, she mused, the closest she would ever get to sleeping with the man she loved. 

Her grandfather had suggested she move into her late parents' bedroom the very day Werner had arrived. Maybe she would now. It was a much larger space than her little bedroom across the hall. She would feel closer to her love in there. Tomorrow she would move her things in.

Jeanne closed and latched the door behind her before turning to survey the room. She smiled sadly to note that Werner had left the room immaculate and as well-organized as it had been when he moved in months ago. Of course he'd made sure all was as it should be. That was just Werner. Kind and considerate. Hadn't he always done everything that he could to make her and her grandfather comfortable in his presence? He had always been so concerned for their peace of mind, had never wanted to intrude more than was absolutely necessary in their home. He had conducted himself with such humility, been the perfect gentleman in every way that mattered.

How was she going to live without him? 

Jeanne pondered that question as she changed into her nightdress and brushed out her red-gold hair. The days ahead were going to be hell. How did you hide the fact that your heart was ripped into a million pieces? How did you force yourself to go about as if nothing had changed when the world had stopped turning? She didn't know. She supposed she'd learn, would figure something out. She would have to. She had Pierre to deal with until his family could come and fetch him and she'd still be her grandfather's caretaker. 

Looked like distraction and keeping busy would be her new best friends. 

Jeanne sighed and settled into one of the chairs arranged by a small table in the center of the bedroom. She wasn't ready to sleep yet, but at least her tears had abated for the most part. She wondered where Werner was at that moment. Would he spend one more night in the village before heading east the next day? Maybe he was staying at the Kommandant's residence. How was he faring after parting from her? Was he as shattered as she was? Was he in turmoil, too? Was his heart broken beyond repair like hers was? Had he given in to emotion the moment he had some privacy to cry over her, too? 

Jeanne knew the answer to all those questions was "Of course." She hadn't needed to hear him say the words to know that Werner loved her as much as she loved him. His actions had spoken for him. She cursed herself for not having told him before he left just what he meant to her. Maybe it was for the best. If they had declared themselves, maybe their separation would be even more painful than it already was. 

The next day would be the hardest of her entire twenty-six years of life. She wouldn't see her captain before he left for work. He wouldn't be there to wish her a good day. He wouldn't make that charming snap to attention before giving her a fond look and heading out the door. She wouldn't hear his familiar footsteps in the entryway after he had returned home at night. He wouldn't wish her a good night after a one-sided conversation with her and her grandfather. 

She missed him desperately already, and she knew it would only get worse before getting better.

If it ever did. Because, really, how did a person survive without their soulmate? It was incomprehensible to her that such a thing was possible. If only she could somehow turn back time and start over with Werner. She would do everything differently. 

Jeanne sat that way for hours, her mind a maelstrom of melancholy thoughts. Eventually her exhaustion caught up to her and she roused herself enough to crawl into what had been her beloved's bed. She curled around his pillow in much the same way as she had on Christmas night while he'd been out. She realized as she lay there that she hadn't changed the linens on the bed and she could just make out his scent clinging to the sheets and pillow cases. She clutched the pillow tighter, finding a sweet solace in that lingering sense of Werner. If she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough, she could almost convince herself that he was there, lying beside her, and that the last twenty-four hours had never happened. 

Almost.

When sleep finally claimed her, Jeanne mercifully did not dream at all.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Jeanne slept in late the next morning. When she'd awoken in what had been Werner's bed and her parents' before that, she had momentarily forgotten where she was. She had looked around, confused and disoriented, before everything had come rushing back to her in a cascade of fresh agony. 

It had taken everything she had to force herself out of bed and downstairs to face her first day without Werner. Her first thought upon stepping out into the hallway was just how empty the house felt without him. 

She found her grandfather in the kitchen. André was placidly drinking a cup of tea and reading the morning paper. Jeanne glanced around before asking, "Where is Pierre?" 

"Still asleep," her grandfather replied. "He woke up during the night crying for his parents. I did the best I could for him, seeing as you were locked in the master bedroom, oblivious. I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me." His tone held a note of passive-aggressive accusation. 

"I didn't, no. I was exhausted last night. I'm sorry, grand-père. I'll check on him later."

André regarded her steadily. "We need to talk, Jeanne. Not just about the boy and what needs to be done for him, but about your behavior going forward."

"Excuse me?" Had she really heard him correctly? She was twenty-six, not twelve, for God's sake. 

André folded his newspaper, took off his glasses, and ran a weary hand over his face. "I can't pretend that I'm not relieved to see Captain von Ebrennac gone. I won't pretend, what's more. Quite frankly I'm just happy we're both still alive after a German staff car got blown sky-high in our driveway. We were very lucky. It's a hell of a chance you took, not telling Captain von Ebrennac about the resistance having tampered with his vehicle. I don't think you would have been able to live with yourself if he had gotten in that car. You're lucky you stopped him before he'd walked out the door. And I know why you stopped him. I might be old, Jeanne, but I'm neither blind nor senile. And I'm not stupid. I know that there was something going on between the two of you, at least on his side. Do please tell me that I'm mistaken." 

Why even bother to deny it? "He was in love with me. And I fell in love with him. I love him and it's killing me that he's left to go and get himself killed in Russia. Doesn't matter now, though, does it? Like you said last night, grand-père: he's gone." Jeanne shrugged. "Whatever else you're going to say to me, please don't. I can't handle it right now. I'm in no fit state to hear a lecture from you on how I should be feeling, or how I should be behaving. I'm a grown woman. A grown woman who's just lost the man she loves forever. If you're not going to say anything compassionate, please just keep your thoughts to yourself, okay? I've never asked anything of you, grand-père, but I'm asking for this now. Leave me alone. Let me feel what I'm feeling without telling me how much of a sin it is. Let me grieve. If you're afraid that anyone outside this house is going to see my sadness and figure out the source and then spread it around town, you can relax. No one is going to know that there's anything amiss, all right? When Maman died, I got very good at hiding my emotions. It's old habit by now." Jeanne heaved a sigh. "I have lessons scheduled for today. I need to go and make a few calls to cancel. Pierre is going to need me." Not caring if her grandfather made any response or not, Jeanne left the room. She spent the next fifteen minutes on the telephone making her excuses to her pupils. They were very understanding and wished poor Pierre the best. 

The day wore on uneventfully. Pierre woke around noon and Jeanne was able to coax him to eat something before taking him to walk on the beach, an activity he usually enjoyed, to try and distract him a little. As for her, looking out at the vast ocean only brought Werner to mind. It would have been so romantic to stroll on the beach in summer with him, she thought, a wistful smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She let herself imagine what might have been as Pierre played in the sand. 

She and Werner could have been so happy. If only she had been braver and embraced her love for him....

It was late afternoon by the time that Pierre announced he was tired and wanted to go home. Jeanne was ready to call it a day, too. Funny how nobody ever talked about how difficult it was to get through your day when your heart wasn't really in it. Jeanne found herself yearning for the day to just get over and done with. She was counting the hours until she could retire to her lonely bedroom and be blessedly alone. Everything else just felt like an ordeal to be endured. She wondered if this was how the local women whose husbands were off fighting felt; how François' mother felt, for example, waiting for her husband to come back. She supposed it must be.

Once back at the house, Jeanne encouraged Pierre to take a nap. He didn't argue, being completely worn out still. She tucked him into bed and went to the living room to rest awhile herself before turning her attention to a few household chores that needed doing. Her grandfather wasn't home. He was probably off with Fernand and just pleased to have his house back and glad to be rid of the man who was to him nothing more than an irritating tenant given to boring monologues about nothing much at all. 

A knock on the door as Jeanne was just about to consider the question of what to cook for dinner that evening made her startle. Unexpected visitors made her extremely nervous these days. She couldn't get over the fear that the person on the other side of the door might be Pascal. She was scared to death that he would eventually come back and try his wickedness again. If the rules of the occupation hadn't forbidden civilians having weapons, she would have bought a gun. She slowly and cautiously made her way to the front door, peering out from a corner of the curtain. 

A German soldier stood on her doorstep; one that she didn't recognize. Catching her eye through the glass panel, he gave her a friendly smile. He was young, Jeanne noted, no more than eighteen. She opened the door and stepped outside. 

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The young man (just a kid, really) held out an envelope to her. "I was tasked with delivering this letter to you, fraulein. I came by earlier, but there was no one at home."

Jeanne took the profferred letter. "Who asked you to deliver this, monsieur?" She suspected she knew the answer to that question.

"Captain von Ebrennac told me to make sure you received it," replied the soldier. "He gave it to me this morning before he left. Said it was very important and I must see it safely into Mademoiselle Larosière's hands."

"Thank you."

"Of course." The soldier clicked his heels and walked away, his duty discharged. 

Jeanne went back in the house, her heart pounding a mile a minute, her hands oddly shaky. She nearly ripped the envelope open right there in the foyer, but something stopped her. She sensed whatever the letter contained was best read in private, for her eyes alone. It wouldn't do for her to be standing there if her grandfather suddenly arrived home. The contents of the letter were none of his business.

This precious message from Werner was a secret between the two of them. Surely he had meant for that to be the case. 

Hurrying upstairs, Jeanne was beside herself with eagerness to see what words Werner had left her with.

To be continued....


	3. Chapter 3

Upstairs, alone in what was now her bedroom, Jeanne opened the curtain to let in what late afternoon sunlight remained. She leaned against the windowsill and turned Werner's letter over in her hands, handling it like the sacred relic it was. Her name had been scrawled in neat, elegant script on the front of the envelope. She traced the letters with trembling fingertips. In her mind's eye, she could see Werner bent over a desk writing to her by the light of a lamp alone at his workstation at Headquarters. Writing to her had probably been the last thing he did before making final preparations to leave France. She closed her eyes against the prickling of tears. That he had taken the time to pen her one last farewell touched her more deeply than she could possibly put into words. 

She gently opened the envelope (it seemed wrong somehow to just rip it) and unfolded the letter itself. It was two pages and written in that same elegant hand that absolutely suited the man himself. Angling it towards the light, she began to read.

My dearest Jeanne,

It's been scarcely two hours since I left you, but I'm already missing you more than I can say. As we were leaving, my driver kept glancing over at me and he actually asked me if I was all right. I couldn't speak to answer him. I think if I had tried to speak, I would have dissolved into tears, which wouldn't do for a military man, as you can imagine. As it is, though, as I sit here pen in hand, I don't mind admitting to you that I am crying. How can I not? My heart is in such agony, my love. I've never experienced anything so painful as leaving you is proving to be. I don't know how I'm going to face the morning, and all the mornings to come, knowing that I'll not see you. Just thinking about it sends a visceral ache rushing through me. The nights to come will be even worse. I'm not looking forward to all the sleepless nights I'll spend shivering alone in a barracks on the front lines, but I shall endure it somehow. Please don't drive yourself mad worrying about me. This is something I have to do. 

I'm not leaving because of you, my darling. Never think that! I go because I've learned the truth of this pointless war. Doubtless you heard my friends and I having our heated argument the other night. They opened my eyes to some very ugly truths. I've always been an idealist, you see, and I very stupidly labored under the misapprehension that Germany was fighting this war for noble reasons, that our cause was just. I know much differently now. Hitler would see France subjugated and all of her glorious culture and virtues trampled under the boots of his fanatical SS with the Heer and all of us good little soldiers helping to achieve that end. It sickens me to think of it. You're probably wondering why, then, am I bound for Russia to fight the Soviets there? Simply put, I want to be as far away from the destruction of France as possible and I view the Russians as the greatest threat to Germany after Hitler himself. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a member of the Party. It is Germany that I am loyal to, not that Austrian madman that will surely drag us to ruin. I'm powerless to protect France. My only ambition now is to protect Germany as best I can. 

But none of that is important, my heart. Not really. I'm writing this letter to tell you how much you are loved. I love you, Jeanne. With everything that I am and ever will be, and unless I am very, very much mistaken, I think you love me, too. I hope you do. Nothing makes me happier than to imagine that you love me. Your love will be the thing that gets me through all the dark days ahead. When I'm lonely, exhausted, terrified, colder than I've ever been in my life, your love will be the shining beacon that keeps me going. On the nights when I'm lying alone shivering in the dark, I'll imagine being with you, safe and warm in your arms. I'll imagine you holding me close, your hands caressing me as you murmur words of comfort. I'll hear you playing Bach for me. I'll daydream about walking by the sea together, sitting on the sand watching the sunset set the water on fire. In all my darkness, you, my beloved Jeanne, will be my light. 

Please promise me that you'll wait for me. When all of this is over, if I survive, I swear on what little I hold sacred that I will come back to you! In the meanwhile, I will try to write to you as often as I can manage it. Know that I will be thinking of you every second of every day. You'll be the first thing on my mind in the morning and the star of my dreams at night. Think of me when you play your piano, when you walk on the seashore, when you see something truly beautiful. I'm only a thought away. I may not be with you, but you're not alone. I've left my heart with you. 

It's very late now, my Jeanne. I'm spending the night at the Kommandant's mansion before I leave for Berlin in the morning to catch a train east. I should try and get some sleep, I suppose. I doubt I'll manage to, but I'm so tired and overwrought that maybe just lying in the dark for a few hours will help me feel more equal to what lies ahead. 

Bonne nuit, my sweet love. Please take care of yourself and be strong for the both of us. I love you more than my own life, and I owe that life to you. You've saved me in all the ways that a man can be saved. I will never not be grateful for that. 

I am, and will ever remain, your most faithful and devoted servant.

Yours for all time,

Werner

Tears ran unchecked down Jeanne's face as she refolded the precious missive and tucked it back into its envelope. Werner's words rang in her head. He loved her. He loved her and swore he would come back to her if Fate allowed. He'd asked her to wait for him. He hadn't left because of her. She hadn't broken his heart or shattered his spirit as she had feared. She hadn't lost him after all, not in the truest sense of the word. Werner had made himself more than clear. He belonged to her and there was no force on earth that could alter that fact. The war might keep them apart for now, but it wouldn't last forever. She would live for the day when her beloved captain finally came home to her. 

Gazing out the window at the setting sun, Jeanne felt the pain in her heart lessen to a more tolerable ache. She was still bereft and feeling Werner's departure keenly, but his words had been like a soothing balm. She felt like she could live with the sadness now. He had given her hope. She'd never believed in God, not really, but she sent up a prayer then, asking whatever higher power that gave a damn to look after Werner, keep him out of harm's way. She prayed that he wouldn't lose heart, wouldn't give in to the despair and madness that the war had wrought in so many souls that had bore witness to its violence. 

Above all, she prayed that somehow he would feel the flame of her love and commitment to him across all the distance between them and draw his strength from it until the day came when they would be reunited and free to make a life together; to finally be able to put all the horrors of a world at war behind them.

The End.


End file.
